


NBD

by pega



Category: Arrested Development
Genre: ...and they were roommates, AU: Gob moved out in his mid twenties, Angst and Feels, Angst is Michael, Character death but it's Tracey and off screen, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Feels is Tony, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Michael is not Coping Well with Tracey's death, Pining, Tony is not Coping Well with pretending to be Gob's boyfriend
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-08
Updated: 2018-09-28
Packaged: 2019-07-08 18:19:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15935753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pega/pseuds/pega
Summary: As Tony nestles up to his borrowed pillow on surprisingly nice sheets, two thoughts occur to him. He’d do anything for this strange man that exudes magic from his pores, who took home a stranger from a club just because he needed a place to stay. And secondly, he super duper can’t sleep with Gob now. Sleeping with a temporary roommate is a bad idea.But it’s no big deal. He’ll find a place soon, and this crush will fade quickly.Right?





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Shoutout to all the amazing Blunder fandom people! I love you all, Marta!

Tony is so dead. He’s so dead that he’s died, been buried, resurrected, and then killed again. His mother warned him about trusting people from the internet, she really did. 

 

He just thought that he could trust a fellow magician. 

 

But no, Tony is at this otherwise very nice magic club, increasingly convinced that he’s been catfished. He must look like a total schmutz, suitcase in hand, nursing a 1994 Sonoma Merlot. At least his outfit is on point, but honestly, that’s a small comfort. He always looks amazing.

 

The club as a whole deserves him, even if the floor is a little grimy for his liking. Tony winces and applies a little more hand sanitizer, more for his own mental comfort than out of any legitimate expectation of protection. This isn’t even that bad compared to the New York magic scene. Still, the atmosphere is nice. The stage is a cozy size, the curtains are a deliberate deep purple instead of basic red, and the wine selection is more than adequate. Tony likes it here, thinks it feels like a new chapter in his life. 

 

If only the roommate he met online would show up. Tony paid the deposit already, dammit. He wouldn’t have moved to Las Vegas if he knew he’d get scammed immediately upon arrival. There ought to be a courtesy period of at least several weeks. 

 

Tony glares at his glass of wine. He can’t even blame alcohol for this massive screw up, he was stone cold sober when he booked the flight and wired the money over. Chugging the rest of the glass is satisfying, at least, but as soon as the alcohol hits his stomach, Tony remembers something else significant. He kind of hasn’t eaten all day. 

 

Well. Tipsy Tony is coming out then. At least he’s good at making friends. 

 

There’s a cute guy a few seats over downing shots like they’re water. Somehow he’s pulling off linen pants and Gucci sandals, so he must be braver than Tony when it comes to germy club floors. “Hey, how’s it going?” Tipsy Tony asks. “Did you catch the show?” That’s the one good thing about tonight. Tony watched the show on the edge of his seat, enthralled. It was The Great Frederick, a totally classic combo of his early contortionist stuff with his newer hiding era type work. 

 

The guy shrugs. “It was okay.”  There’s barely any emotion in that voice, which is a shame, because his voice is scratchy, deep in a way Tony’s never heard in person before.

 

Tony’s about to find an excuse to leave, because honestly, he’s had it up to here with fake magic fans, he’ll totally find a motel or something, it’ll be fine, who needs men with deep voices in a time like this-

 

“-He’s relying a little heavily on the contortionist angle, you know? It was great five years ago, don’t get me wrong, but I expect someone of Frederick’s caliber to keep pushing the limits. He’s resting on his Laurel too much.”

 

Tony nods slowly. “He did spend a lot of stage time bantering with his assistant.”

 

“Exactly.” And wow, those are some stunning freckles on that man’s face. They’re like mini constellations, and Tony suddenly gets why poetry people blabber on so much about the night sky. “I’m Tony Wonder.”

 

The stranger returns Tony’s handshake. “Gob.” At Tony’s tilted head, Gob sighs. “It’s initials turned into a name. Spelt G-O-B, pronounced Joe-with-a-bee.” He pauses. “I actually always wanted to have bees, but that’s unrelated.”

 

That’s... pretty cool, actually. “Do you have an act?”

 

“I’m the Thursday opener. Hoping to work my way up to Friday opener sometime soon. Do you?” 

 

Tony nods. “Working on one, at least. Still sorting out the branding. And the contact list. And the supplies, and a place to live.” The pleasant bubbliness of Tipsy Tony starts to slip away into Objectively Sad Tony. 

 

Gob frowns. “Wait, is that why you have a suitcase? I thought it was for a bit.” The genuine concern in his voice makes Tony want to cry. 

 

Emphasis on the “want”, because even formerly Tipsy Tony knows that he cannot smudge his eyeliner right now. 

 

“Yeah. I think I got scammed, actually.” Tony tries to keep his voice steady. “It’s fine, it’s just a lot. I moved across the country and now I’m drunk and hungry and-”

 

Gob grins. “I know a diner that’s super easy to steal from. Want to go get pie?”

 

“What?” Tony wasn’t expecting that reaction. At all.

 

Gob absentmindedly pushes his hair up with his hand. “Yeah. Pie tastes better when it’s stolen.” He glances over at Tony and seems to deflate a little. “It’s fine if you don’t want to go with me.”

 

“I totally want to.” Tony doesn’t know that’s going to be his answer until it tumbles out of his mouth, almost harshly naked in its truth. “Let’s go steal some pies.”

 

Gob waves over the bartender. “Is the card still good?” She nods. “Great. Put his stuff on there too, okay? And tip yourself, I hate math.” The bartender just rolls her eyes, but there is fondness and familiarity in the expression.

 

“Um.” Tony looks at Gob, who promptly flushes.

 

“My parents cut me off when I moved out here, but they haven’t noticed this card yet.” His shrug is tighter than before. “I’ve got a day job now, so when they notice, it’ll be okay.” He grins at Tony, fast enough and wide enough to almost give Tony emotional whiplash. “It’s so worth it though, to be out here where the magic happens, you know? It’s glorious.”

 

Tony hesitates when they get to the parking lot. He took a cab from the airport, so it’s not like he has any other choice, but climbing into a stranger’s car feels like a massive no-no, particularly given his earlier scamming victim experience. Then Gob leads him to a freaking limo.

 

“Why do you have a limo?” Tony has to ask. He moves towards the front, kidnapping worries forgotten. No kidnapper drives a limo. Especially not one with a clearly amateur glittery paint job.

 

Gob hops into the driver’s seat and seems pleasantly surprised when Tony picks the front passenger’s seat. What, like he’d sit in the back? That would be rude. “Police auction. A little blood never hurt anyone!”

 

Tony’s 85% sure that’s not true, but he barely has time to consider that thought before Gob stomps on the gas. And at that moment, two realities present themselves to Tony.

 

  1. Gob is a terrifying driver.



 

  1.  This might be the most interesting night of Tony’s life.



 

Sure enough, Gob pulls the limo into a twenty-four-hour dinner. The glowing sign features a cowgirl flashing the parking lot, but the rest of the dinner is inexplicably inspired by the interior decor of Versailles. It’s tacky and it’s crass and Tony loves it immediately. 

 

Gob grins at him. “It’s awesome, right?” 

 

“Totally awesome!” Tony takes a look at the fake gold plated menus plastered up over the line grill. All of the food is aggressively American. 

 

They order enough different dishes that there’s barely any space left on the table for Gob to demonstrate card tricks, but they make do. The food is surprisingly palatable, and Gob seems to have another ongoing tab here as well. Tony thinks he’s a pretty good judge of character, but he doesn’t know what to make of Gob. He’s clearly used to having money, but if he’s been cut off from his parents, he’s in the process of learning how to live without it. He’s charming, but he’s forgetful and over-enthusiastic in a way that makes having a balanced conversation a challenge. 

 

_ He’s lonely,  _ a small voice in the back of Tony’s mind comments.  _ Like you. _

 

Back in the parking lot, Gob reveals two whole pies, somehow hidden in his coat, and his grin is so smug Tony wants to kiss him senseless. Before he can make up his mind to do so, though, he’s interrupted with a yawn that is decidedly not sexy. 

 

“Tired?” Gob teases. 

 

Tony nods. “I guess I should find a motel.” He’s stayed in worse. Not for a while, to be fair, but his school’s choir had zero funding. 

 

Gob looks confused. “Why would you do that? Motels suck.”

 

Right. Coming from money. “Motels are also cheap and take walk-ins. I got scammed, remember? No roommate, no apartment, no deposit.”

 

“No, I mean, why would you do that? You can come stay with me. I’ve got space.” Gob’s voice is casual, but his body language is tense, shoulder blades protruding and pointed towards the sky. He looks like a stork about to take flight if startled, and Tony doesn’t quite know how to proceed.

 

Tony pauses. “It might be a while until I can find a new set up.”

 

“Look, I don’t-” Gob looks at the sky, hand to his neck. “I don’t have a lot of friends. I have some, don’t get me wrong, I’m not a loser. But I’m still, you know, rebuilding a ‘social circle’ after moving. I used to spend a lot of time with my family. Like, a lot.” Gob glances at him with a look Tony can’t decipher. “I’m not used to living alone.”

 

Tony thinks back on his family in New York, his brother and sisters and mom and- “Same.”

 

The drive back is filled with stories of Gob’s surprisingly relatable exploits. Each story blends into the next, patched together by Gob’s throaty laugh. The neon signs they pass do the same, washing over the interior of the car in a haze of undefined brightness. 

 

Gob is brighter than the lights.

 

Gob’s apartment is in a relatively clean part of town, and it’s walking distance to several clubs. Tony’s little carry-on suitcase fits really nicely in the living room, next to the pullout couch. Gob shows him where the kitchen is, where the bathroom is, where his show doves sleep and the jar for their treats. 

 

Traces of magic are everywhere in this space. Gob murmurs an unnecessary apology as he scoops up armfuls of blueprints, blueprints that feature detailed sketches of props that look fantastic, blueprints Tony can’t wait to check out. There’s a cage of white mice by the bathroom, and little post-its on the glass tell Tony their names are Harry, Blaine, and Apollo. 

 

Gob also piles him up with more blankets than a reasonable person could use in a night, especially a Nevada summer night. 

 

As Tony nestles up to his borrowed pillow on surprisingly nice sheets, two thoughts occur to him. He’d do anything for this strange man that exudes magic from his pores, who took home a stranger from a club just because he needed a place to stay. And secondly, he super duper can’t sleep with Gob now. Sleeping with a temporary roommate is a bad idea. 

 

But it’s no big deal. He’ll find a place soon, and this crush will fade quickly.

 

Right?


	2. Several Years Later

“Knock knock.” Lindsay’s voice breaks through the fog of barely there sleep. “Michael?”

 

Right. He’s Michael. Michael Bluth. He gets up from his position on the floor and shuffles to the door. His sister looks surprised to see him. “Oh! I thought you wouldn’t take visitors, actually...” As her voice trails off, Michael shrugs. His throat is too raw to use right now. Not that he can imagine ever wanting to speak again, since the one person he-

 

“-Michael!” Lindsay’s voice sharpens with concern and a tinge of panic. “Mother!” 

 

“Sit down, for chrissakes, we can’t have you fainting.” Lucille’s dry tones resonate with him on a much more primal level than Lindsay’s. Michael sits. 

 

His mother smiles grimly. “Good.” She’s holding a legal pad and fountain pen, the same set she brings to shareholder meetings. Shit, Michael’s missed so much work over the last month, he has to review the files and- “I’m planning the funeral. No photographers, as per your request, but there will be a few tasteful reporters. I need you to double check the guest list.”

 

“Mom!” Lindsay looks scandalized. “Can’t you give him a break? I swear, you always do this-”

 

Michael feels barely tethered to the Earth right now. He might have a sinus infection, he might have pneumonia, or he might be really fucking sad and on the verge of losing it. “Linds, can you do it? I don’t think I can.”

 

His sister pauses mid-diatribe. “Yeah.” Her voice is softer. “Yeah, Mike. I’ve got it.”

 

“And Linds?” Michael finds himself turning to face his twin, to really look at her for the first time in several long days. Her eyes are a splotchy pink, and there are definitely mascara tracks by her cheeks. She liked Tracy too, he remembers. They all did.

 

As he watches her, Lindsay’s spine straightens and her eyes become focused. He knows she would do whatever he asked, and Michael Bluth is quickly overwhelmed again by emotion. This time, it’s gratitude for his family. Family first. Always. “Yes?”

 

“Make sure Gob comes, okay?”

 

Their mother clicks her tongue angrily, but Lindsay doesn’t even glance in her direction. “Of course.”

 

“You should also still do your vow renewal.” 

 

That, Lindsay does react to. “What?” 

 

Michael isn’t sure where the impulse comes from, but he knows that he needs to be the one to keep this family together. He couldn’t handle a Lindsay and Tobias divorce right now, which, honestly, they’re always at risk of doing without public motivation to stay together. “Cherish love, you know?”

 

“I thought you didn’t think an eight-year vow renewal was a thing?” Lindsay asks.

 

Well. “If it’s not, it should be. Don’t call it off on my account.” See? He’s fine. He’s such a good person, such an indulgent brother, even if he can’t be all that he once was. 

 

He’s not a husband anymore, after all.

 

“Lindsay, actually, hang on. Don’t trouble yourself, I’ll call Gob.” He’s an expert in Gob wrangling, of calling countless numbers and tracing back his wayward brother’s steps. This one will be a doozy too, a real challenge, since the last time anyone contacted Gob was what, six years ago? seven? And that number was a Las Vegas number. Gob could be anywhere in the world right now. 

 

Michael shoos Lindsay and their mother out of his room with a smile that is starting to feel more genuine. He’ll need privacy to make all these phone calls. Heck, it might even take him the whole day!

 

He’s kept Gob’s last number in his address book under “Dumbass”, so he flips to the Ds. Yep. There it is. He punches in the number, mentally preparing his spiel. It’s like an old monologue he memorized back in middle school when Gob was skipping class and being reckless while Michael was getting straight As and staring in school plays. He knows this routine, and routine is exactly what he needs right now.

 

“Hello?” 

 

“Hey, this is Michael Bluth, I’m looking for my brother Gob. George Oscar Bluth. This is the last phone number I have for him, do you-”

 

“Oh, hang on!” The voice interrupts. “GOB! Your brother is on the phone!” 

 

Michael is pretty sure he’s having an auditory hallucination. “Sorry, Gob still lives there?”

 

The guy on the end of the line hums an obnoxiously casual agreement. “Yep. He’ll be here in a minute, he’s just getting out of the shower.”

 

“G-O-B. Gob?”

 

“Yes?” An irritated sigh comes through the phone. “I think I know who I live with.” 

 

The world doesn’t make sense. “Oh? What’s your name?”

 

“Tony Wonder, magician extraordinaire.” 

 

Michael isn’t sure what he can say to respond to that, but thankfully, Gob takes the phone away from Tony Wonder, magician extraordinaire. 

 

“Michael?” Forgotten memories well up inside him, triggered by that unmistakable voice, and Michael feels his throat start to tighten again. 

 

“Yeah, Gob, it’s me.” He takes a deep breath. He can do this, he has to do this. “Tracy died. Can you come to the funeral? It’s Sunday.” 

 

There’s silence on the other side of the line before Gob speaks. “Yeah, yes, I can- I can do that. Mike-”

 

“-and Lindsay is having a vow renewal with Tobias on Friday. I don’t know if you’ve had the chance to meet him, but he’s... something.” 

 

“Mike, I’m sorry-”

 

“-AND you should bring your boyfriend.” Michael can feel his blood pumping. This is also a dance he knows, the dance of riling up his brother. He knows that next, Gob will start sputtering and he can probably goad him into bringing an escort to the funeral, and it’ll be a disaster so big no one will look at Michael at all.

 

But the silence on the phone is thoughtful, not panic ridden, not really. “Okay. If that’s what you want, sure.”

 

“Great.” It’s not great. “See you both here when you get here! Same house. You know the one.” Michael hangs up. 

 

If he stays hidden away for an extra hour, if he comes back downstairs and announces with a fake smile that he ‘finally’ found Gob, no one calls him out on it.


	3. Pies and Planners

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To clarify, the rest of this fic is set in ~2000/~2001, a few years before the show starts. This is approximately when Tracey died, but Mitch's timeline is whack and I'm just gonna go for it anyway

Tony watches Gob warily from his perch on the counter. His best friend stares at the phone like he still can’t believe his brother actually called. Tony’s willing to give him another five minutes of stunned disbelief before he breaks out the super soaker, since yeah, the man has a right to a little panic. It's a rather extreme situation, after all. He couldn’t quite tell what they discussed on the phone though. Gob kept getting cut off, and Tony tries to push down the thought that Michael must be a jerk. Eight years of silence deserves more than a two-minute phone call, but Tony knows how much Gob’s missed Michael. It would be bad for Tony to start hating the guy, even if he does want to have a few very choice words with Gob’s family about the whole silent treatment thing.

 

“Tony, I need a favor.” Gob slowly puts the phone back in its cradle. His back is turned away from the kitchen, and Tony can’t quite make out his expression. “Please pretend to be my boyfriend for this funeral.”

 

“Of course,” is Tony’s instinctive response, before the rest of that statement processes. “Wait, boyfriend? Funeral?”

 

Gob shakes his head. “Michael assumed, and I couldn’t- it’s his wife’s funeral.”

 

No wonder the poor guy looks shocked. “I’m sorry. Were you close?”

 

“I knew her when she and Mike were in high school.” Gob frowns. “I didn’t know they got married. I figured they would, but- no one told me.” Gob looks at Tony. “I could find someone else, you know, to pretend to be my boyfriend if you didn’t want to come.”

 

Tony’s brain screams at him that this is a bad idea.

 

“Andrew has been coming around the club again, I could introduce him under your name.”  

 

Tony’s brain can shut the heck up. “Obviously I’m coming.” He’s already planning an appropriately tasteful funeral outfit. “We should work out a good story though. People are going to ask how long we’ve been together, that kind of thing...” Tony trails off when he realizes that there’s no way Gob is listening right now. His gaze is distant, locked on a spot on the wall beyond Tony’s head.

 

Tony turns to see what’s captured Gob’s attention so thoroughly. And of course. It’s the only personal photo Gob ever seemed to keep after he left his family, the one with a tiny cut on the border from when Gob got drunk and decided he didn’t want to look at it anymore. Tony walked in on him, photo and scissors in hand, looking deeply conflicted and close to tears.

 

He was the one that taped the tiny cut up after Gob fell asleep, the one who pinned it on the wall and tried to memorize Gob’s face at sixteen, bright and wide and almost embarrassingly sharp in its intensity. Gob’s gangly teenaged arm was wrapped around a shorter, slightly younger teen, with a self-conscious smile. The other Bluth siblings were stared at too, the hot sister and the shy younger brother, but it was the stiff middle one that Tony knew had to be Michael, had to be the brother Gob still talked about so very much.

 

He hops off the counter and tries to pretend to himself that he didn’t have to hop. “Gob, hey. Hey.”

 

Gob looks at Tony.

 

“Let’s go steal some pie, okay? I’ll book the tickets, and we can work out our backstory on the plane.” Tony tries to grin. “It’ll be just like a show, okay? The old razzle-dazzle.”

 

A smile slowly pulls at the corner of Gob’s mouth. “Tony, you’re the best. You know that, right?”

 

Tony shakes his head. “Shut up.” That only makes Gob’s grin bigger. “I’m only doing this for the chance to see where you grew up, to practice my acting chops, and for the free food. In reverse order of priority.”

 

Gob lightly punches Tony in the shoulder before leaving to put on clothes for a pie stealing adventure. Tony shows great restraint in not swearing until Gob is out of the room.

 

_Fake boyfriends. Fuck._

 

Still. Better Tony than Andrew the Asshole. Gob has dated some doozies, but Andrew fills Tony with a particular level of spite unrivaled by any other suitor.

 

To be fair, that hatred is probably mutual. Andrew has a way of rolling his eyes whenever Tony talks, and he always manages to do it when Gob isn’t looking. And Tony just knows Andrew did something obnoxious and awful to make Gob call their thing off. Gob’s terrible at confrontation. For Gob to initiate a breakup conversation, Andrew must have really dropped the ball, and Tony would do basically anything to keep them from hooking up again.

 

Including, apparently, posing as Gob’s fake boyfriend at his estranged brother’s funeral for his dead wife.

 

Tony’s mom is going to have a field day with this.

 

If Tony takes a few minutes to scream into a throw pillow, that’s fine, that’s totally normal. He should have moved out ages ago, but Apartment 413 has an amazing rent deal, and it’s a really convenient location and-

 

-and Tony’s never been able to look for new living accommodations without feeling sick to his stomach. Sure, Gob could find a new roommate, and they could still be friends. But just the thought of no longer waking up in what once was Gob’s living room and is now Tony’s stylish open floor plan bedroom? Anyone else living here, with Gob, getting to witness his moments of inane ignorance, half-baked schemes, and overwhelming earnestness?

 

Hell no. Tony has some dignity, Tony has some self-respect, Tony has- well. Tony has a crush on his roommate. So those other things are kind of out the window.

 

Gob comes stomping down the hallway, loud enough that Tony has sufficient notice to pull himself together. “Ready to go?” Gob just nods, and Tony grabs his keys off the hook in the hallway. They’ll take his car since the limo was towed last week and neither Tony nor Gob has sufficient adult experience to figure out how to get it back.

 

The ride to the Pie Palace is filled with Gob’s chatter about everything except his family. Tony gets a front row, driver’s side seat to Gob’s opinions on the mating patterns of bees, tax evasion, and Mexican manufacturing standards, up until they pull into the parking lot and Gob bounces out of the car still regaling Tony with hypothetical examples about a kitchen device that sounds truly unsafe.

 

Tony figures that the Pie Palace waitresses know that he and Gob steal pies by now. But they always tip well, and the ladies complain about their boss often enough that Tony can deduce that they don’t really care. Gob still treats it like an adventure though, and Tony may be a lot of things, but he’s not a bubble popper.

 

“And that’s why I think we could totally market the Dove’o’Matic, just in Mexico!” Gob has a habit of gesturing with food still on his fork, narrowly missing Tony’s face. “I know it didn’t work the first time-”

 

“It didn’t work at all,” Tony feels obligated to point out. “The doves hated it. I’m still convinced they pooped on the couch on purpose.”

 

Gob shakes his head. “Mr. Bojangles is just old, he can’t control his cloaca.”

 

“Cloaca?” The waitress shakes her head slightly at Tony’s question. Gob’s eyes light up.

 

“It’s a bird pussy! Slash butt.”

 

Tony contemplates throwing his ice water at Gob. “Bullshit.”

 

The waitress sighs. “Just let me know if you want any to go boxes? I sense this will take a while.”

 

Gob gives her an absent-minded thumbs up. “Tony. It’s true and it’s hilarious. Also probably worth knowing as a subset of dove care.” He starts sketching out a disturbingly accurate model in the mashed potatoes. “See, here-”

 

“-Gobie, maybe we should talk about the trip first?”

 

Gob looks shell-shocked for a moment but shakes it off. “Right.” He looks away from Tony and back down at his mashed potatoes. Gob draws a frowny face with the tines of his fork. “Well. My parents have a plane-”  


“They do?” Tony can’t help but interject.

 

Gob shrugs. “Yeah, but they never let me use it. So we should probably just fly like, a normal person airline. Do you know one of those?”

 

Tony nods. “Yeah, don’t worry, I’ll get the tickets booked. When did Michael say he wanted us there?”

 

“The funeral is this Sunday. There’s also a vow renewal with my sister on Friday, apparently.” Gob finally starts eating his potatoes instead of using them as a sketchpad, and Tony gives a small internal cheer. Gob is terrible at remembering to eat when he’s stressed.

 

“So we should leave by tomorrow at the latest, then.” It’s not a question. Gob has a truly awful sense of time and perpetually overestimates how many hours are in a day.

 

Gob gives a half smile. “I believe you.” He visibly takes a breath, chest rising and falling slowly. “Thanks, man.”

 

Tony brushes off the thanks, despite feeling distinctly pink inside. “It’s not a big deal, don’t worry.”

 

Gob laughs then, loud and sharp. “I just realized, we’re probably going to have to share a room, huh?”

 

Ha. Ha. Right. Fake dating. “I mean, it’s not like we haven’t done that before on tours.”

 

“That’s true.” Gob keeps chuckling to himself, and Tony would like to know exactly what’s so funny about the thought of them sharing a room.

 

He doesn’t ask though, just starts mentally drafting a to-do list. Not knowing makes his skin itch. Tony wants-needs every second of his routines planned out in advance and practiced until every trick looks effortless. Gob, however, has always been the improviser, the natural, and his effortless stage presence actually is that, effortless. Sure, he practices, but it’s not the sweaty, curse-filled sessions Tony experiences while working through a tough sequence. Gob’s version of practice looks like fun, looks like joy and happiness, and it’s amazing to witness.

 

Tony has a higher rate of success on a trick by trick basis, but he can’t shake the feeling that Gob has a spark of magic, real magic, that Tony will never be able to capture through practice alone. Maybe that’s why he spends so much time with the man, hoping for some of that glow to transfer over to his act and his world.

 

The weird part is, Tony thinks it’s working.

 

“Hey.” Gob’s voice breaks through Tony’s internal monologue. “So, what’s the plan, boss?” His roommate is smiling softly.

 

Tony laughs. “What makes you think I have a plan?”

 

“You don’t need to!” Gob points out. “I could totally have a plan right now if I wanted to.”

 

“Winging it does not count as a plan.”

 

Gob shrugs. “Fine, I don’t have a plan.” Green eyes meet blue, and Tony feels overwhelming fondness. “But you do.”

 

And who could argue with that? “Oh, you _know_ I do.”


	4. An Acoustic Arrival

“Lindsay! George Michael wants ice cream, ‘cause his mom died.” Maeby Bluth-Fünke, Michael’s six year old niece, calls out to her mother as she in the doorway of his kitchen with her tiny hands on her equally tiny hips. 

 

Michael rolls his eyes as Lindsay reluctantly gets to her feet . “I can’t believe you let your daughter call you by your first name.”

 

“We’re a progressive family, Michael, you know this.” Lindsay crouches to Maeby’s eye level with a cheery grin. “What kind of ice cream does George Michael want?”

 

“Rocky Road!” Maeby answers immediately, scrambling to present Lindsay with two empty bowls. He’s not sure where she found those. Michael hasn’t been back to this house in a while, what with Tracy’s sudden downturn and the realization that he and his wife and son needed a space that was smaller, cozier, with a ground floor level bedroom. He brought most of the household goods to the cottage in a fit of panicked packing, he didn’t know there were any dishes left.

 

Michael frowns. “George Michael doesn’t like Rocky Road. He says that it’s stressful having that many flavors.”

 

“Oh, he says when his mom died he decided to start liking Rocky Road. Guess you didn’t notice,” Maeby explains. 

 

Michael feels like he’s being stabbed, just a little. He’s fine though, he’s fine. Lindsay turns to her daughter with an uncharacteristically stern frown. “Maeby, that is not a nice thing to say!”

 

“It’s okay, Linds, I should have noticed.” He should have noticed a lot of things. 

 

His sister scoops the ice cream absentmindedly for her daughter, who scampers away with a whispered cheer. Lindsay puts the ice cream back slowly and looks at him. Her grey green eyes are red around the edges, and Michael knows his own must be worse. “Michael-”

 

“So about Gob’s so called date, how weird do you think he’s going to be? Like, owns multiple parrots levels of weird, or more of a talks in third person kind of weird?” Michael knows he’s being mean. He doesn’t care, he just needs Lindsay to change the subject. 

 

Lindsay looks contemplative as she straightens the neckline on her halter top. “Did you know he was gay?”

 

And boy, if that isn’t one hell of a complicated question. Michael flashes back to the room he and Gob shared for a while, until he started staying out late and avoiding his admittedly straight-laced younger brother. Gob would come back in various states of disarray, whispering about magic in Michael’s ear until Michael would begrudgingly wake up and let Gob recount his night. Gob mainly told stories about girls, of course, but sometimes his voice would take on a different, rawer quality while talking about a particular hookup, avoiding pronouns, and well- Michael had a sense. 

 

But god, Gob was the worst roommate in the world. He was messy and needy and Michael couldn’t summon up a ton of sympathy for the guy, not when Gob regularly interrupted his studying with fireballs and dead mice. Their room was a battlefield, and conversational landmines were everywhere.

 

Michael wonders what he looks like now. Probably not quite as gangly, possibly more put together than the last time he saw him, raging at their father and then devastated silence and-

 

“The magic thing was kind of a tip off.” Michael tries to shrug, but it comes off stiff and lopsided. “Hopefully, he’s grown out of that.” Gob might have grown out of a lot of things. Michael feels a little proud at the thought, like maybe Gob could be someone he could actually talk to again, someone who finally learned his lessons about behaving like a normal person. Probably not, but it’s still nice to dream.

 

Lindsay frowns. “Isn’t his boyfriend a magician?”

 

“First of all, I don’t think we can really call them boyfriends, do you?” Michael starts methodically wiping down the counter. They definitely don’t need an ant infestation anytime soon, with the funeral and the guests coming. “Gob’s not exactly the dating type.” 

 

“It’s been a long time, Michael.” But Lindsay doesn’t offer any other arguments. 

 

Then Michael hears music in the distance. Piano keys being slammed, with way too much energy for nine am on a Saturday. Something primal in him perks up, some literal classical conditioning and Michael has the strangest urge to hide in a tree.

 

Lindsay turns towards the window, brow furrowed. “Is that a Billy Joel song?”

 

_ Come out, Virginia, don't let me wait _ __   
_ You Catholic girls start much too late _ __   
_ But sooner or later it comes down to fate _ _   
_ __ I might as well be the one

 

Michael blanches. “Is he seriously playing Only The Good Die Young?” 

 

Lindsay looks at him, confused. “Who?” She takes another look out the window and gasps, “Oh my god.” Her manicured hand clutches at her heart, and Michael remembers suddenly that Gob is Lindsay’s brother too. He ignores the tears pooling in her eyes for that reason, even though if Lindsay was really on his side, she should be just as pissed as he is right now. Michael also ignores that it’s definitely a bad sign that he’s already thinking it as his side and Gob’s side, already back into the same habit as before, as if Gob never left.

 

As if Gob was never made to leave?

 

At some point, he’ll nail down the story, but for now, he has to storm outside and tell his wayward brother to have some respect. 

 

____________________________________________________________________________

 

Tony gives the taxi driver the promised twenty. “Thanks man!” The driver just shrugs, looking a little pissy still about ‘safety’ and ‘please wear a seatbelt’. “You gotta make an entrance when you can, you know?”

 

Gob passes Tony the keyboard absentmindedly, and Tony takes it gladly, even if it makes him struggle with his balance for a moment. Gob has been tightly wound all day, and it’s so unnatural, Tony wants to scream. He’s the one who is usually like this, pensive and twitchy and worried about anything he could possibly be expected to have control over. 

 

Tony doesn’t scream though, doesn’t shout. Of course he doesn’t. His best friend is scared, and gosh darn it, Tony refuses to make this situation anymore stressful than it already is.

 

He’s going to be on his best behavior. No sleeping with widows or widowers, no petty theft, and minimal raving about The Magic Show. He has a fistful of absolutely stunning white lilies, and the flower shop chick swore they were appropriate for funerals. Tony is set, and ready to conquer and support on Gob’s behalf. 

 

He also really wants Gob’s family to like him, independent of anything Gob needs for himself.

 

Although from all Gob’s said, they barely like Gob, which is so ludicrous Tony’s convinced his lovable roommate must be misreading the situation. So either they’re not worth bothering to impress, or Gob is out of the loop about how all these people feel. It wouldn’t be the first time, Tony thinks ruefully. Gob has misread Tony for years now. 

 

”Gob!” A thin, strained voice yells out. Tony can feel Gob stiffen at his side, and he gives his hand a quick squeeze. Which he’s allowed to do. They’re pretending to be dating, so he’s allowed to do that, and Tony gives a silent cheer at the thought that for once, he’ll be able to be as tactile with Gob as he wants without people tilting their heads in confusion at the roommates.

 

A grumpy looking man with sad eyes storms up and tilts his head at the sight of their interlaced hands. “... You must be Tony.” 

 

Tony nods, unsettled by the blankness in this man’s voice. “Yeah, I am. Hi.” He offers this man who must be Michael his hand, but he just stares like he can’t quite believe Tony is a real person. 

 

Tony just can’t believe Southern California is a real place. Every house on this street looks identical, and there are unironic palm trees everywhere. Gob’s flip-flop addiction makes more sense in this context, but that’s the only improvement. 

 

Michael follows Tony’s gaze to the houses, and brightens a little. “They’re beauties, aren’t they? They’re Bluths.”

 

“Relatives?” Tony asks. He tries to present Michael with the lilies, but the keyboard gets in the way, and he just ends up dropping the instrument. 

 

Unfortunately, it lands on Michael’s foot. 

 

“Christ on a cracker!” Michael mutters. Tony has to shoot a look at Gob to see if Michael is for real with this basic ass swearing, but Gob is still just staring at his brother in frozen terror. 

 

“I’m so sorry man!” Tony grabs Michael by the arm and spins him away from Gob. Gob just needs a minute to recover, like with stage fright. Tony keeps babbling at Michael, letting him lead him into one of the countless identical houses that does in fact, feature a sign with the poorly thought out slogan “Get Inside A Bluth Today”. Michael points at the sign and starts happily bragging about the family business.

 

It occurs to Tony that he might need to get some further details from Gob on what exactly the ‘family business’ is. Hopefully it’s houses.

 

Gob pulls himself together by the time they reach the open door, but grips Tony’s hand deathly tight when a tall blonde woman appears in the doorway. She’s stunning, if a little weepy, and Tony thinks back to the decade old photo hanging in their kitchen. 

  
“Lindsay,” Gob begins, looking a teary himself, but the hot sister pulls Gob into a smooth socialite fake out hug instead of letting Gob get close enough for a real one, and Tony decides to hell with rule number two, he’s going to steal her moisturizer in retaliation at some point. Also her skin looks amazing. 

 

“You look well,” she gushes, and Tony is struck with a realization that he can only barely contain until the Bluth twins get distracted with bickering about where Gob and Tony are sleeping. 

 

“Gob,” he hisses. “Gob!” He tugs on Gob’s jacket sleeve, and Gob turns to him after a moment of delayed response. 

 

“Yeah, Tony?” 

 

And damn, Tony has to stay focused on being annoyed, because those eyes are seriously distracting. “I asked you multiple times, multiple times! If your family were WASPS.” Tony feels betrayed.

 

Gob blinks. “We aren’t wasps, we’re people. If anything, I like to think of us as bees. Like honey bees? Because of the initial B?”

 

“You know that’s not what I meant, we’ve talked about this, I know you know how acronyms work-”

 

“-So!” Lindsay’s fake cheery voice breaks through their bickering. “Sorry for the mishap, Michael initially prepared a room with two beds, for some reason.”

 

Gob snorts. “Stupid, homophobic Michael.” 

 

Michael doesn’t seem phased at this, just levels Gob with a raised eyebrow. “I’m a skeptic, what can I say?” 

 

“You’re right.” Gob’s smile is decidedly false. “What could you say?” 

 

The air feels stormy suddenly, hints of thunder and lightning and other ways of relieving tension and pressure through violent explosions thickening the space between the four of them. 

 

Michael clears his throat loudly, and Tony has to restrain himself from highfiving Gob, because that’s backing down, and that’s a win. And damn it, when did Tony start feeling like a soldier in a war he didn’t start?

 

(He’s felt like this since a handsome stranger talked about magic with him for half an hour, then offered a pullout couch and stolen pies. Sometimes Tony wonders [did somebody say...] what it says about him that his affection is so easily bought, but he’s nothing compared to the man next to him when it comes to loyalty.)

 

The moment is broken when a cat stops right at Gob’s feet and meows pitifully. “When did you get a cat?” Gob asks, picking up the ball of white fluff before waiting for an answer. “I thought you were allergic?”

 

Michael nods. “I am, actually. Still allergic, I mean. But my son found this little guy outside, and, well. I couldn’t say no.” Michael twitches. “I literally couldn’t say no, my throat was swollen. But hey, they bonded! So little Snowball is here to stay.” 

 

_Snowball._ _That’s real original,_ Tony thinks.

 

“Well. Let’s get you two to the guest room!” Lindsey stalks off without checking if Gob and Tony are following. Tony sets down the keyboard in the hall and grabs both bags. Not that anyone is counting. 

 

Tony is totally counting. 

 

____________________________________________________________________________

 

Michael doesn’t like Tony. 

 

No, moreover, he doesn’t believe Tony. 

 

Tony is a moderately functioning, normal looking, adult man, and Michael refuses to believe that someone like that could be dating his brother without ulterior motives. Maybe it’s money, maybe it’s an attempt to get information about his father’s inevitably shady business dealings, maybe it’s some giant prank show gag. 

 

Which is why Michael, as a mature, responsible older brother in all but formal title and technical birth order, eavesdrops by the door as Tony and Gob unpack. 

 

“Hey. How are you doing?” That’s Tony’s voice, the manipulative prick.

 

Michael only hears shuffling for a moment, then a compression of bedsprings, and he’s about to bow out of this whole spying venture when Gob’s rough voice finally responds. “I barely recognized them, Tony.” There’s a wild laugh. “Isn’t that funny?”

 

He can’t tell if Tony laughs back, but he hears more bedsprings and then “-they recognized you.”

 

And that’s true. Michael was able to recognize his brother, of course he was, the man is a giant with an affinity for the tackiest outfits known to mankind. 

 

But Michael was surprised at how old Gob looked. 

 

“-Maybe coming was a mistake.”

 

“Nah.” Tony’s voice is slow and confident. “Think of it as act material if it doesn’t work out. Plus, you’ve got me. You can show me around once we unpack. All your old haunts, you know?”

Michael has to assume that Gob nodded, or otherwise signaled an interest, because there’s no more talking, just bedsprings and the sound of the dresser drawers opening and closing.

 

He mentally marks this situation a priority level red. 

 

Tony’s good at whatever game he’s playing, so Michael will just have to be several steps ahead of the phony jerk. It's his brotherly duty.


End file.
